Wait what?

I'm going to the Middle East!

Burgas has been lovely for a second time.  Funny thing is that I am no longer comfortable - I'm set to go and get the hell out!

See you soon.

Love,

Aaron

Istanbul - again.

I decide I am just going to take it easy, the last few days have been an absolute rush and headache - I have only been gone for two days and so much happens.  Having already seen the Syndey Hostel during my first time in Istanbul, I thought it also to be "quite comfortable" and decided to make a booking there myself.  I will have company - Benno and Denny.

In the few days I stay, I do some soul searching, cheese buying, and reconnect with an old friend about her family situation and a rush of emotions engulfs me.

Unfortunately I become too comfortable - let's pause here.

The subject of getting comfortable.  No matter where I go, I get comfortable really fast.  From Sofia to Killis, anywhere I go I feel like I am at home.  In Sofia, I realized that I did not really want to leave Cetvan's because I was just comfortable there.  Getting up and going away was so much trouble.  Even in the smallest pockets of the world where no one visits like Ivan Vasovo, I became incredibly comfortable.  And in Killis, I was in a world that felt like home.  I dreaded leaving all of these places.  Even the Sydney Hostel.  I felt like I could spend a lifetime at these places because it was just so simple.  But I had to remind myself to get moving, otherwise my mind creeps into the past.

During my short term stay in Istanbul I plan out of my options.  Depression was seeped into my mind and I needed to act.

I did afterall, tell Gergana - the Salsa dancer - that I would come back if I did not get into Syria.  That was one option.  The others were in traveling to Egypt and or Israel- which is still on the plate.  I shared the idea with an Australian I met at the hostel, he took keen interest into it, afterall the flight was 148 Euros.  Not bad.

Back to Burgas for a week or so.

Kilis at the border of Syria

March 13th


The next morning I scramble to get myself and my belongings in order.  It's 9:30 and I have a plane at 12:45 to Gaziantep, home of Baklava.  It's recommended that you arrive an hour prior to your domestic flight; I know that things in Istanbul have a tendency to not go as planned so I give myself more time than necessary; hence the rush.  The transportation takes about an hour to get to the airport, which is also to factor in.  Rushing to prepare, I realize it's too late to take the bus to the airport - every one hour interval - and head towards Taksim square to find a Taxi.  I try my luck at picking a Taxi... no- that one is ugly, no- that one has missing paint...and so on.  Taking the Taxi in Istanbul is a hit or miss, you will never get out of Istanbul with all positive experiences when using the Taxis.  In the words of Mehmet (who usually wears only black), you have some really dirty and terrible drivers at the wheels of Taxis.  In my zombie like state from sleep deprivation I pick a Taxi and wish myself luck.  

That luck would not come.  

I enter the Taxi and inform the driver that I am not going to Ataturk airport, rather Sabiha.  I ask him why the meter is not on, and he begins to press a few knobs.  18.00 Lira so far.  Great.  I know it's not going to be a good trip.  After some small talk I start to doze off.  About an hour later we reach the airport and the meter reads 113.20.  

"130 Lira"

"Meter says 113.20"

"Tolls for entrances"

I rationalize it- he's made a good point, accept it, and go to withdraw some money from an ATM.  I come back, hand him two fifties, a twenty, and a ten. 

"Sir.  You gave me a five."

"I'm so sorry" and I tell him to exchange me a ten with three 20 bills.  

He takes it and does not give me the five back.  He ignores me and I take my bags and decide to not mess with it.  Then I realize that he fucked me over.  I take note of his license plate and later report him, but I doubt it changed anything.  

I board my flight and go unconscious as the view of the mountains envelops into the clouds.

I arrive at airport Havalimani in Gaziantep, meet my new hosts - Richard and Angelina (names changed), parents of Rose, who I contacted on Couchsurfing.  For informational purposes, I am actually going to stay in a city called Kilis, which is a few KM from the border of Syria.  I think to myself, "this is it, we have come this close and we are nearly there...but the journey is not over yet."  We go shopping, I reminisce about the days in Plovdiv and Ivan Vasovo, spending the day with the family doing ordinary every day things.  They buy a few things for me, Salep to be one, and we head to Kilis.  

Halep is Aleppo, a city in Syria - my would be destination.

This kid was dancing so freely so I had to take a picture!

Gotcha.

But before coming home, they bring me to a mosque on top of a hill...

     

One thing I forgot to mention is that Rose's parents don't speak English and I don't speak any Turkish - sounds just like home alright :) 

Did I also menton that Richard is a police officer?

Our whole interaction up til this point was mostly us communicating out of a phrase book of Turkish and English, and me saying silly phrases like "Stop, thief!"  

I settle into my home for a night.  Richard comes into my room and we start to communicate through my dictionary.  About ten minutes later I get the point that he's trying to tell me to take a shower and I do so.  Afterwards I head to dinner, where I am accompanied by a young student learning English.  He reminds of me a teenager that Lily, my sister, and I once saw working at a Wendy's (fast food chain in the USA) who had acne everywhere and had gotten our order wrong - poor guy, it must have been his first few days.  Anywho, he acts as our interpretator for the rest of the night and he does a damn good job at it.  Although his confidence seemed to be rather rocky and he quite nerdy, his translations were fine considering his surroundings.  Rose's parents absolutely spoil me with food and tea, by the way.  Richard tells me to go upstairs to look at the view.  We enter another apartment and I'm asking myself, "whose home did we just enter" when it actually turns out to be our translator's home.  His mom is fiiiine I must say - anyway so we catch a glimpse of Syria from the apartment.  The dad of tour ranslator- we shall name him Data from now on; a tribute to Goonies - tells me that the building heights are a max of five stories due to earthquake precautions.  I take one more view of Syria at night and we head back in.

I beat Data at chess over some tea and we all head back down to Richard's and Angelina's to discover that they ordered pistachio baklava.  More food.  I don't know whether or not to be happy or feel like a glutton.  We start discussing politics and we get to the topic of how I know Rose...  Apparently she told them I was her friend.  

Backstory:

So as I was festering in my schematics to travel the Middle East, I knew that crossing the Syrian border would be a 50/50 chance- look at the first blog post.  I decided to give it a shot at finding a couch on the border of Syria/Turkey and did my research on which border crossings were not congested.  Doing my reading on Killis, I decided to pick it based on previous stories.  So I thought to myself, "why not try to find a couch..." and there it was.  The first person I messaged was Rose, who had not logged in for weeks - reasonable given the location; no one willingly goes out of their way to visit Killis.  She answered me promptly and told me I could stay, and that her parents would arrange to meet me at the airport.  She studies in Austria on Erasmus, so she could not actually be there in person, but I suspect she may have told a white lie or two...

Okay.

So we get to subject on which parent Rose looks more like, Richard or Angelina, and I'm just answering ambiguously.  Then Richard asks me how I liked Austria/Vienna - keep in mind that Data is translating - and I answer that I have never been there.  From that point on, Richard has his hand on his chin and is in a reflective state.  Trying to rationalize the relationship between me and Rose, I'm sure he was confused as to who the hell was in their home.  We take a few pictures and I talk to a few family members through Skype; even Rose herself.  Kind of awkward I must say.

We arrange details for tomorrow morning-  the crossing, and I call my parents before heading to sleep.  

March 14th

I wake up and think to myself We eat breakfast - my favorite; olives and feta cheese.  Angelina and I bid eachother farewell and Richard and I head to an office...

He bids me farewell and hands me a piece of paper with his cell phone number on it.  Giving me those cold eyes, I could feel his concern as our eyes last exchanged gazes.  

I get into the car of the transporter.  Inside his 10 year old daughter sits with us and they drive to get some papers.  All the while, Transporter is waving and honking at people.  I start to think that Richard may have arranged something special - afterall when you are an officer, you know people.  We reach the Turkish exit gate, I get through successfully.  Then we reach the Syrian entrance gate and proceed to enter the customs/stamps building.

A rather decrepid building, the only thing that seemed to be in somewhat decent condition was the portrait of Bashar al-Assad, the "President" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bashar_al-Assad).  

Transporter's daughter walks up to the booth and hands over her passport, which is filled with stamps.  I walk up next and hand over my passport.

"Where is your Visa from embassy?"

"I don't have one, I have been in Germany for the past six months."

"We cannot give you Visa, go to Gaziantep Syrian Embassy"

"That's for Turkish residence only."

"Gaziantep Syrian Embassy"

Transporter's daughter says something to me in Turkish, but I cannot understand a single word.  I had read from various sources that a "Baksheesh" may be in store; otherwise bribe.  I had two 50 Euro bills stowed away...but the repercussions for bribing an officer did not seem too appealing.  I like risks, but being put into a Syrian jail was not on the list of my priorities.  An officer not in uniform directs me to follow him and we head towards the automobile entrance/exit, he hands my passport to two guards and we start a small conversation on my whereabouts. 

"Where are you from, Japan?"

"From the United States, but I study in Germany."

"But you look like Jackie Chan!"

"Wow, from United States and studying in Germany, that's surprising..."

I had banked on the thought that my heritage just might give me an edge on my entrance to Syria.  I even picked Kilis because it was not a high traffic border and had picked so early in the morning to ensure that there would not be others trying to enter as well.  

The officer not in uniform (I'm sure there's a word for that) directs me to Transporter's car.  "Chanta" means bag in both Bulgarian and Turkish.  Benno and I once compared words between Bulgarian and Turkish and I found it interesting that so called "family" names were held in the Bulgarian vocabulary, whereas words like "Chanta" or "Shishe - bottle" were universal (the Bulgarians were held under Ottoman rule for about 500 years).  

I go to get my bags and Transporter and his daughter enter their car and leave for Syria.  Ununiformed officer brings me back to the automobile gate, where the two guards have arranged for someone to drive me to Gaziantep.  I get into the unknown car and we drive to the Turkish gate.  

Back into Turkey for me.  


Throughout the carride I realize that this is failure, but I learn from it; enter Syria with a damn Visa next time.  I started to regret not bribing, and start letting my mind wander into the past.  And fall asleep.


We get to Gaziantep and the driver drops me off at the Syrian Embassy, I already know what is going to happen.  They're going to either tell me yes (unlikely) or tell me to wait some ungodly amount of time for a yes or no on entrance.  The latter occurs and the embassy representative tells me he is sorry, there just is not any other option.  I leave for an internet cafe to orient my way through Gaziantep and devise my plans.  

Gaziantep has the reputation of two things: Baklava and being a boring city with shy over a million citizens.  I suspect that tourism is not one of Gaziantep's strong points, after being the only tourist and having hotel owners come up to me.  I walk through the streets and receive stare after stare, glance at the cheap wares, buy myself a wrap/doener and give it to a kid, and end up in another internet cafe.  They serve me tea and I ask a few questions using Google Language Tools.  The exchange went a little like this...

"Hello, which bus do I take to get to bus station?"

"I will show you"

"That is very nice"

Introductions and small talk aside, I board the small van, when I am greeted by an elderly man.  The whole bus laughs and my internet cafe pal hints towards the bus station.  Ten minutes later we are there but I do not realize it, so the bus driver tells me - thank goodness.  

Immediately as I walk towards the entrance of the bus station, two men greet me and ask me where I am going.  We walk in...

This place is nice.  As noted before, the Turkish must have a passion for their busses, because their stations are incredibly nice.  This bus station was huge as well - not as big as Istanbul's mind you - but huge regardless.  It's a giant circular building with skylights and a palm tree in the middle.  Small offices of bus companies like Varan, Metro, and so on create a smaller inner ring, with their booths facing the center.  On the opposite side of these offices are small stores that can either be grocery or restaurants.  Classy.  


I can imagine that life here can be very boring.  Sitting in this office all day, waiting for people and busses.  Not my ideal lifestyle.  I purchase my ticket with a company called "Tesiles" with promises of internet access and leave my belongings in their office.  The workers get to know me and we share tea.  I pull my netbook out and start walking around for a connection signal.  The workers of another office stop me and tell me the password- right on.  They introduce me to all of their acquantinces, Ali, Ibrahim and so on, up to the point where one of them gets on my computer and gets on his Facebook to friend me.  I later go on to prevent him from seeing any of my information.  


The bus ticket initially stated 19:30, but as soon as 18:00 hit, they told me it was time.  Before boarding the bus I leave a postcard of Freiburg behind - as I have done with my previous hosts or anyone playing at least some significant role in our temporary relationships.  I board the bus and sit next to this rather large Turkish man.  The ride would last for 16 hours.  


After eating at one of our many pitstops, nature calls.  So at our next stop, a gas station, I look for the first opportunity to do my business.  We must have been in somewhere with a higher elevation; there was snow on the ground.  To my dismay, none of the stalls were open and it was time to get back on the road; shit.  


About an hour later at 1:00, we stopped at a bigger establishment, where there were rows and rows of toilets- holes in the ground.  At this point I realize there are no other options despite my true unwillingness to squat (it is one in the morning, all I want is a nice porcelain toilet to sit on).  


At 3:00 in the morning, an attendant budges me to inform me that I am getting off the bus.  Istanbul already?  This ride is supposed to last sixteen hours... So in a fit of confusion, I remain in my seat, and the people outside the bus are yelling at me- I believe they were telling me to get off.  I look to the Turkish man next to me and ask him "Istanbul?" and he asks them.  They open the hatch for my baggage and I go outside.  I see a bus behind us with "Istanbul" in its LED screen.  I guess they're transferring me.  I go to get my bags and go into the other bus - much more comfy to say the least, and I see the attendants from both busses exchanging money.  


I sleep and we arrive in Istanbul.  

Place Osi, Ferdinand, and Fortuna

March 11th


The following morning the news is on about the Kobe earthquake in Japan.  8.9 is huge - 150x the size of the earthquake that recently struck in New Zealand.  I later realize that the Japanese guy I met at the beginning of Istanbul was Japanese and feel mortified.  

I find potential hosts, a girl who studies and drinks tea on the weekends, people that live far away in Istanbul and finally select a rather unique one - Fortuna, "dancer y Analyst".  

I leave the hostel and head towards his tiny apartment - Place Osi.  This is the tiniest apartment I've ever seen.  It must have been twice the size of a dorm room, but with a bathroom and a kitchen.  At the same time, there were three beds - it was so compact.  Shoes on the stairs, shoes hanging, and a full closet, I wondered how Fortuna even managed.  His offering stated something along the lines of "if comfort is not an issue, you're welcome to stay."  I knew it'd be a unique experience so I went.  Having pressed on every button available on the outside of his apartment because I did not know which one was his, success came - I'm sure with a pissed off neighbor or two.  Inside sat Ferdinand, Spanish born, Portuguese descent - If I'm correct.  Fluent in Portuguese, English, and Spanish and having studied Business Management, he was making a higher than average income at the age of 23.  We find some common ground and he informs me that Fortuna and the other couchsurfer are gay (Fortuna is actually bi).  Ferdinand and I would eventually learn that we would be brought to Istanbul for the same reasons.  

After some solo venturing, I arrived back to find Ferdinand and Simon- the other surfer from Germany at home.  Fortuna was supposed to call or be home to get something to eat and go Salsa dancing; supposed to.  He would later come home to alert us that his friend's mother died so there was some consolation going on.  The evening still young, Ferdinand and I venture out to get some food.  We get onto the topic of getting Lasik eye surgery done and he tells me that he knows plenty of people that have done it; the only drawback being cash and availability in certain locations.  He tells me he knows of a place to get it done in Istanbul and I explain that I'm not sure because my eyesight is perfectly fine.  

That night, Fortuna invites about ten more people to his flat.  Everyone gets settled and the drinks start coming out.  I refuse to drink - but share my wine from Bulgaria.  It appears that after this point, no one is going out because staying at Fortune's is way too comfortable.  So Ferdinand and I head out. 

Istiklal street in Istanbul on a Friday night is just alive.  You can feel the energy of thousands upon thousands of people in the streets.  Not a single area is quiet, quiet is non-existance.  So many people fill the streets, the sad, the fucked up, the happy, the weird, the lost, and those who want to belong.  You can feel the emotions of the people and sense their feelings.  There is no thinking - just doing.  And we find this place called Beyrut - ethnic and international music.  We go inside and our presence is only but a sprout.  I quickly become acquainted with the music, find the rhythm, lose all inhibition, and move.  I become one with the music and start to acquaint myself with other people who are comfortable in their own skins - it's not real though, they are usually drunk and they become what they want to become for only a short duration.  I don't talk, rather just move and they communicate back non-verbally.  Tonight, I have no name or identity.  

Did I mention this place was called Beyrut - ethnic and international music?  Although a bar, the floor was plentiful and the place was alive.  People dancing everywhere in whatever manner possible.  No one trying to show off, no one trying to prove a point.  This place was the epitome of acceptance and international communion.  American, Finnish, Korean, and people from all over the world were present.  In one section, you have your Germanics, in another the Arabic, the Hispanic, and so on.  

Our presence grows and the attention starts to focus on us.  Suddenly a congo line forms and I'm put in front.  I try to find suitable leaders, but no one wants to.  The congo line ends and I find myself in a rather Arabic area, dancing my way back to where I began.  You can feel who is happy, who is pissed off, who is uncomfortable, and who doesn't like you just by their body language.  I find myself a nice little niche of people to dance with, they are not holding back and they do not care who is who.  This eventually grows bigger and bigger.  And our presence becomes greater, attracting many.  Soon enough people come up to introduce themselves to me and in the middle of this vibrant brawl of dancing I believe I nudge someone's beer.  I saw him earlier with a girl I believe to be his girlfriend.  She wanted to dance and have fun while he wanted to keep her in his eyesight, dragging her to other places and being dragged himself - you could rip his façade apart.  He clearly did not want to be there and he did not want anyone touching his prized possession.  He was not alone either.  Many men became protective, keeping me in their eyesights, putting a physical divide between me and their women by placing themselves between us.  

Admist the orgy I realize I'm thirsty.  With absolutely no need of any alcohol, I need a trusty liquid refreshment - water.  I go to the bar and ask for a water, the bartender points at the beer tap, I say water.  I place myself on the backburner and position myself by a collumn to rest and wait for my water.  The bartender calls about three people over and there seems to be a rucus.  About ten minutes pass and I'm thinking to myself, "what does a man need to do to get some damn water here, there's a faucet right there where they're cleaning the glasses - give me that, it's perfectly fine."  Two bottles of water are brought up.  The bartender looks at me and raises two fingers up.  I give him my five Lira bill, he gives me three back, and I slide one Lira onto the counter.  Out of the corner of my eye while chugging my water, I see him and one of his counterparts eye the coin and he slowly takes it off the counter, pocketing it.  

I go back to dancing and something just does not feel right - the atmosphere feels rigged after the small encounter over water.  We leave and go to find Fortuna, who has based himself at home with his guests.  Empty bottles and cigarette ash trays everywhere, people sitting and chatting, and camera flashes, we come home as completely different people to completely different people.  The two German girls who at first seemed so proper and stiff had initially in beginning created a tiny social corner with Simon, were now wrapped together smiling contagiously and bliss like.  They were supposed to catch a bus at 1:00 to the airport, but overstayed - "We'll take a taxi" (think female German accent).  The Turkish men had all been talking, and the cute Turkish girl was calming down after initially being very energetic.  I look for my sustenance, oranges and apples, and cannot find them.  I drink more water and rest on the corner of the mattress.  

Departure time was on the brink.  Leaving behind Simon and a Turkish man who drank too much, we all left to send off the Germans, and you could just feel the authority Fortuna commanded.  After surveying the Taxi's for a suitable driver to the airport, hugs and byes were administered and the Germans left.  The group proceeded to split ways, only for a few to recollect at a Metal bar - think Metallica.  Us being part of it, the presence there was true, but it just did not feel like home.  Ferdinand and I head back to the Beyrut bar, but we find out that the party is over.  Rather disappointed because it was only 3:00, people were communicating about their cultures.  I suppose I held Istanbul to a higher standard - for a city 50x smaller than Istanbul, Burgas partied till the wee hours of the morning.  Maybe it was the wrong time.  

After giving my host Fortuna a back massage, we hit the hay at  8:00 and wake up at 12:00; not an easy task.  Following the zombie like awakening, we spend most of the morning discussing our previous night.  Fortuna went out to work, Simon went to take a long walk, so Ferdinand and I were left to make up the day.  After discussing our previous whereabouts prior to coming to Istanbul and our actual motives, we found ourselves on a common motive of heartbreak, leading into a discovery of poems.  


Emotions aside and the evening in full bloom, we decide to try our luck with the night life again - of course after wetburgers and sarma/sarmi.  To our dismay we Fortunate decides to sleep for the evening and night - he had taught two hours of intensive Salsa on top of the previous night.  Scrambling to get into contact with some Italian girls that Ferdinand met a few nights previously, we look at potential events or places to visit.  
 Going back to the Beyrut club in hopes of causing more hell, we reach our destination and find that it is desolate - and leave.  Slightly disappointed, we finally deciding that the objective of the night was to dance, we make way to a club called "Romeo and Juliet."  Along the way we pass by a countless amount of clubs - and are denied entry; Turkey demands having girls in your group; being Asian and Hispanic won't help you here.  Finally arriving to Romeo and Juliet, we find out that there is actually a Turkish folk music concert taking place - not exactly what we were expecting but we were allowed free entry.  Song after song our minds begin to play tricks on us.  Our motives to coming to Istanbul started to creep every so gradually and as soon as we knew it, the music had stopped and the concert had ended.  On our way back to Fortuna's, Ferdinand hints at the idea of committing some type of suicide if I am up to it.  I tell him that in two years max you'll be fine and we go back home with heads hanging.  

Taksi, Taksim!

March 9th, 2011

The following day I leave a note for Mehmet, informing him that I will meet him at the Couchsurfing meeting this following night and go out exploring Taksim square - let me indicate that I've been eating about eight wet burgers everyday and that Doener has become rather disgusting.  Also - I like to find small shops and cafes.  Don't you ever recommend me a cafe unless you're a local!  

It usually does not snow in Istanbul - I picked a good time to visit.

Cafe after cafe, dish after dish, and street after street, I land myself at the Couchsurfing meeting and there's practically no one there because it's two hours early.  I meet a few Turkish people, an Indian guy who speaks Turkish (people ask him where he got his Indian accent from), a Lithuanian girl, and learn that Turkish men and Lithuanian women are becoming more prevalent in being couples - Lithuanian men supposedly spend their days drinking, and when in bars in Lithuania, there's about a six women to one man ratio.  I also meet a few hosts - some that rejected my requests - and learn more about the so-called politics of Istanbul Couchsurfing.  Prior to coming to Istanbul I had found interesting profiles and requested to surf with them.  But unknown to me, many Turkish hosts, primarily male, host only females for sexual gain reasons.  I don't quite understand the mentality.   The night ends in dancing and meeting so many new faces from a colorful array of backgrounds - and a lot of Germans.

March 10th

I spend a huge portion of my day putting finishing touches to my term paper - an interpretation of a poem that Bertolt Brecht wrote while supposedly sitting in a train.  A short insight into the poem; he initially had written the poem as Sentimental Song, then added the number 1004 to it later - the 1004 is supposed to be the succession of the number 1004 - Don Juan had 1003 lovers in Spain, Brecht wanted more than that.  After looking for various tricks to make my paper seem bigger to no avail, it was time to fork it over, so I sent two copies, one via E-mail and the other through fax.  We shall see what happens in the coming months.

I'm scheduled to leave Mehmet's today, so I look up hostels; none of the sent requests were successful; although I could have used the last minute couch.  I find one called "The Sofa Hostel in Taksim"; nightlife.

I pack up my belongings and head over to the desired region with the subway.  I reach Taksim and go by foot  until I realize that I am nowhere where I need to be.  Navigating myself by looking at the street signs and formation of roads and comparing them to my map, I am actually all not too far from where I need to be.  All is actually going well until these two adolescents - no more than 14 - stop me and start speaking gibberis- Turkish.  I show them where I'm trying to go on my map and we go on the longest and most frustrating fucking journey in the world.

We make circles in areas I had already been, they ask so many people how to get to where I need to go, and they can't read a fucking map.  It seems that I know Istanbul better than these two do because we keep going back and forth - at least I was going in a solid direction to reorient my location. But NO - these two insisted that they knew where they were going and wouldn't stop making this stupid hissing sound to get my attention. We got to another hostel, where the owner shooed them away.  I took a map and saw that where I needed to be was actually about three minutes away.  I left the hostel and the boys- assholes were standing outside.  They insisted on going another direction when I knew where exactly I was going and continued to make that damn hissing sound.  I went into a cafe to secure my location via internet and left the boys behind.  They followed me to the cafe and started causing a rucus, so one of the workers of the cafe started translating.

"They said you used a taxi service"

The two boys tried to play sooooo innocent and threatened to get the cops until the owner - who looked like the doctor from Back to the Future started yelling at them.  They left and it turns out that he gave them five Lira.  After two hours of what should have been ten or twenty minutes of a journey, I was finally "home"; the hostel was next door but any indication of a sign lacked.  

That night I talked to a Finnish and Iranian man, who displayed sympathy for the Kurdish population, following into the topics of Italian men and their mothers.  

After everyone hit the hay, I decided it was prime time for me to go out - afterall I was next door to some rich night life and this is a metropolis!

Wandering the streets alone where I had formerly been with a large group of Turkish people was different.  I was heading towards this bar where Balkan music would be playing.  This time, the "promoters" came on even stronger, and people insisted on walking by your side.  After reading stories about people getting suckered into bars where there will be women and then getting hit with a tab of about 50 euros per beer - some a lot higher.. - you become aware.  When people are desperate for you to come to their club or bar, it's almost like coming on too strong - a big turn off. 

"Hello my friend, come to my club" - he proceeds to show me.  Club "2010".  I play stupid with him and act like a dick.

"The year is 2011, who named the club 2010?  Was it you? What happens when it is 2012?"

"Yes"

So I find the place I'm looking for and enjoy some Balkan music.  Then I leave to see my other options of the night.

Having heard of a party being hosted by a few Couchsurfers, I headed in the respective direction.  Three minutes later I was there.  Bleh, one of those parties.  You know, where it's just a bunch of dudes trying to grind on women, but cannot because the girls are just there to dress provocatively and inflate their egos by denying men.  You know, where no one is actually going to dance, but actually to gain something at the end of the night.  Totally not my scene.  So I shoot shit with a few Germans, dance with a few girls, and get the hell out and decide that the Balkan music was better. 

I get there and the music is gone!  But the band is in the lobby so I chat with them.  We get wetburgers and I'm told that you are not allowed to deny an offering of food.  Also not to trust anyone.  Time to depart and I head home to the hostel...  

"Hello my friend, are you looking for women?"

"Yes, Turkish"

"Come with me my friend, I show you beautiful women"

So we walk a bit - actually in the direction of where I'm trying to go - so why not have some company!

He seemed rather disappointed but I'm sure he found someone else.  I go to the hostel and create a last minute couchrequest before heading to bed.